


A Professional Undertaking

by devje



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Sick Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Swan-Mills Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-06-07 09:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6798346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devje/pseuds/devje
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regina is sick, and Emma takes care of her.</p><p>[Post S5A, canon divergent]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Paradoxalpoised](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paradoxalpoised/gifts).



> A very late present for C., who could have used her own Emma Swan when she was recovering from surgery.
> 
> It ignores everything that happens after S5A, and a lot of what went before as well.

#### Day 1

Taking care of people was emphatically not Emma Swan’s forté. Ask her to chase down a skip, arrest a dwarf for public intoxication, wrestle a dragon, even survive being the Dark One without killing her infuriating but well-meaning mother, and she’d be right there. All forms of badassery, her speciality.

Looking after someone who was sick and/or helpless? That was Regina’s thing.

Regina was a natural with Neal when he was sick. Emma had once witnessed Regina strip the Baby Bro naked, bathe him, cover him in powder and lotion, redress him, and have him settled happily in bed, all while carrying out a conference call on speaker and reading some paperwork on the iPhone Regina had totally stolen—‘Appropriated, Emma. Appropriated!’—from her.

Emma, though, had an aversion to vomit, poop and anything expelled from other humans. Except blood. Blood, her own and others’, had long been part of her stock-in-trade, and she’d seen enough of it to last several of Regina’s lifetimes. She could hold a compress to a gushing jugular or apply a tourniquet, no problem. That fell under the general heading of badassery, which (obviously) was totally her thing. 

But the sight of someone whom she liked, sort-of felt undefined things for, depended upon—ah, hell, who the hell was she kidding? She needed and craved Regina, so seeing her lying in bed and too weak to do anything for herself was not something for which Emma Swan was equipped.

Also, it felt wrong being in Regina’s bedroom uninvited. Not that she was ever expecting to be invited in the way that she’d like. Because, well, that wasn’t going to happen. Because that wasn’t who they were. Because Regina liked guys. And, officially, to her parents and others, so did Emma. Even though that wasn’t remotely true. Even though her fantasies for years had been of the women with whom she’d had flings. Meaningless one-night stands. Meaningless because she couldn’t let them have meaning because, if they had meaning, then she’d have to think about what they meant.

But Regina meant something.

Regina meant safe and family and belonging and really big scary fuck-off thoughts Emma didn’t like to think. 

Even the little thoughts about Regina terrified Emma.

Emma shook her head and stared over at the woman in question. Regina was lying on her back, looking dishevelled. And not, like, the good kind of tousled, bed-headed, warm, sleepy, well-satisfied-after-hot-sex dishevelled, like she often was in Emma’s occasional daydreams. 

(Okay, frequent fantasies. Whatever.) 

No, Regina was pale and sweaty, with her hair plastered to her face, and looking much too fragile for Emma’s liking.

They’d brought her home from the hospital too soon. Emma knew that much. She had been in enough hospitals to know that no-one, not even someone as seemingly invincible as Regina Mills, could recover from major abdominal surgery in only three days. Three days wasn’t even enough time for Regina to have recovered from the initial effects of the anaesthetic. Three days wasn’t even enough time for Regina to be able to cope without a morphine drip, which was still attached to her, as was a drain for her wound. Three days was, however, more time than Regina was willing to spend at Storybrooke General, a point that she made quite vociferously. And repeatedly. And loudly. To anyone who happened to be in earshot. Or out of earshot.

Emma had begged Regina not to sign herself out against medical advice. When that proved fruitless, she had sent in Henry with strict instructions to use any emotional manipulation he could. Even he hadn’t been able to persuade his mother that she should remain in hospital.

And then the next thing she knew, Henry was turning the puppy dog eyes on her and telling her that ‘they’ needed to look after his mom, and Emma hadn’t even questioned who he had meant by ‘they’ because she apparently couldn’t say no to a Mills who looked at her in a certain way and said her name in plaintive tones.

Witchcraft. 

Regina had passed her special brand of witchcraft onto their son, and Emma found it impossible to say no to either of them.

If Emma had been there in the first place, none of this would have been necessary. Emma could have saved Regina, and the quasi-medical skills of Dr Victor Whale would never have been required.

But now Regina was pumped full of anaesthetic and attached to an IV, a wound drain and pulse oximeter, and she had a massive scar from her belly to her pubis. 

(Emma was pretty sure that she and Whale had thought the exact same non-clinical things when he’d said that word—and he’d made ‘pubis’ sound about three syllables long—and that had made her feel a bit skeevy, but also protective, because who the hell was he to think of her Regina that way?)

So, Regina normally meant home and all the scariest feelings, but now she was attached to a whole bunch of medical equipment and nothing like herself, and none of this was of the good.

“Will you be standing there all day, or are you actually going to come in?” Regina’s voice was scratchy and low and barely half-way towards her normal tone of mild yet somehow fond irritation. 

Emma looked up. Regina was still lying on her back, left hand cupped over the area where her scar was, and her eyes were closed. 

Maybe she’d imagined the voice?

“Miss Swan?”

Not imagined, then. 

“Well?” Regina’s lips were pursed in what would have been a smirk if the underlying strain on her face had allowed it. It also sounded like she had a serious case of cotton mouth, but Whale had mentioned that would be the case.

“I am so sorry.”

“For?” Regina opened one eye and inclined her head towards Emma.

For letting herself get distracted by things which weren’t important. For not being there when the Kurgan—and Emma still didn’t understand how a character from the Highlander movies had shown up in their weird-ass town because she was pretty damn certain that they had a fairytale-and-cartoon-characters-only residence policy, even for villains—had almost sliced Regina in two with a broadsword. An iron fucking broadsword. 

Most importantly, she was sorry for not telling Regina how she felt about her.

“For waking you,” she said, disappointed in herself for pussying out.

“I believe it’s well-past time I was awake.” Regina was looking at the clock by her bedside. It was nearly 11pm and Regina had been asleep for thirteen hours since they’d brought her home.

“Whale said you need to rest for at least three weeks before you’ll be well enough for us to try to magic you fully better.”

Regina’s curled lip betrayed what she thought of Whale’s advice, but she said nothing.

Emma pushed herself away from the doorframe and stepped inside the room.

“Can I get you anything?”

“The ability to travel three weeks into the future so that I may leave this infernal bed?” 

It was a weak joke, but Emma chuckled anyway. Sass was always a good sign where Regina was concerned. 

Henry had left a jug of iced water and a glass on the bedside locker, and Regina reached towards it, but she got caught up between her drain and her IV tubing, and knocked over the glass. Emma rushed over to pick it up, and Regina growled with displeasure. It was unclear whether it was directed at her or at Regina herself. Maybe both.

For all that it terrified Emma to see her weak like this, it had to be killing Regina, who definitely thought of herself as the smartest, strongest, most capable person in any room. To be fair, it was usually a fair assessment.

Emma poured more water into the glass and held it out. Regina took it from her and sipped for a few moments before replacing it on the table.

“Where’s Henry?”

“He had the swing shift, and he wanted to stay until you woke up, but it’s a school night, so I sent him to bed.”

“Swing shift?” Regina blinked and tried to get up, pushing and pushing against the mattress with weak arms.

“You need a hand?” Emma wasn’t surprised when Regina shook her head again and gave up rather than accept any help. Damn, the woman was impossible. She was also glaring back at her, waiting for her question to be answered. This was going to be hard work on several levels. “The deal for bringing you home was that you need twenty-four-hour observation, so Henry’s got the swing shift, four to nine, and I’ve got the night shift.”

“And the day shift?” Regina sounded apprehensive. “Tell me it’s not your mother.”

“While my mother is desperate to tend to your every need, I assured her that the school needed their principal more than you needed her undoubtedly piss-poor nursing skills.” She shrugged. “Only I didn’t say the piss-poor thing out loud.” That time, Regina smirked, a full-blooded smile of satisfaction. It looked strange against her sallow skin, but it was a glimmer of the real Regina.

Emma debated sitting on the bed. She decided to wait until asked. The last thing Regina needed was someone crowding her.

“So, who should I expect during the day?”

Emma shrugged. “There’s a rota in the kitchen. I think Granny and Ruby are up tomorrow morning. Maybe Archie and Will in the afternoon. I don’t remember.” She gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’ll bring you the list and you can have final approval, if you like. And I can drop by whenever, if you need something you don’t want to ask them for. You just need to text me.”

Nurse Mbele over at Storybrooke General had been very specific about what Regina could or could not do, and what other people would need to do for her. The patient should only attempt to get out of bed with full supervision. The patient was definitely not to go to the bathroom by herself, and she was not allowed to lock the door once in there. On no account was the patient to attempt either a bath or a shower; she was to be allowed bed baths only. Bed baths were also to be supervised. The wound was to be kept covered and protected at all times. No food, only liquids, until the patient was unhooked from the drain and the morphine and her transit was clear. There had been a lecture on needing to pass gas, during which Emma had wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole. Nurse Mbele herself would be by at least once a day over the next few days to check on the wound, and to remove the pulse ox, IV and drain, when appropriate.

Regina had taken all of this news about as well as expected.

Regina scowled. “What would I need from you that I couldn’t get from someone else?”

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe you’re happy to have Archie wipe your little tush for you, but I figured you’d want a female friend to tend to that sort of thing.” Emma bit her lip at the ridiculousness of that image. She wasn’t sure who would be more mortified, Regina or Archie.

“You’re not coming anywhere near my tush, Emma Swan.”

She tried not to go there, she really tried, but she was only human, and Regina had said ‘tush’, so Emma’s hormones kicked into overdrive. She immediately imagined having her hands on Regina Mills’ ass, although there was no form of nursing care involved in the scenario.

“Emma? Emma?”

She shook her head and grimaced. “Sorry. Drifted off for a moment there.”

“Obviously.” Regina pulled the covers around her neck. Even that small effort looked like it pained her greatly. 

Emma sighed. She was going to have to get her hormones under control if she was to be of any use to anyone. Professional, that’s what she needed to be. This was a job, and she had to approach it as such. 

She headed towards the plush armchair in the corner of the room. As she sat down and started easing her boots off, Regina snorted.

“You surely cannot think that you’re staying here?”

Emma shrugged. “Just for a while, until I see you’re sleeping okay. Then I’ll go back to the guest room.” She’d been pacing between the guest room and Regina’s bedroom for the last few hours, mostly hovering in Regina’s doorway. The patient was to be checked on every hour or two; Emma hadn’t been able to stay away for more than five minutes so far.

Regina blinked slowly, then shut her eyes and folded her hands together over the bedcovers. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yes, fine, although I imagine that it will be some time before I am asleep again.” 

It took mere seconds for Regina’s breathing to even off, followed by some mumbled noises which weren’t quite snores—except they so were, even though Emma would never tell Regina that she snored, because she valued her own life too much—then silence.

Emma stayed in the chair all night, watching, listening.

 

#### Day 2

The following morning, Emma slipped out of the bedroom before Regina awoke. She told herself it was to spare Regina the embarrassment of realising that she had passed out again. That was part of it, but it wasn’t the whole story. 

Watching over Regina had been calming and curiously fulfilling. Emma’s overriding feeling had been that she was right where she wanted and needed to be. And that wasn’t something she wished to dwell on. Way too terrifying.

Rather than thinking dangerous thoughts, she busied herself making breakfast for Henry and Regina. She made milk and some toast, liberally spread with Regina’s own spiced plum jam, for Henry; for Regina, there was a pot of tea and more ice water. Even if she couldn’t face drinking the tea, time with Henry would always be the best medicine for Regina. 

Meanwhile, Emma fled the house like the abject coward she was, afraid to face Regina and her own emotions.

A no-doubt-temporary lack of evil geniuses in town meant that there wasn’t much for the Sheriff to do that day, other than nap a little and make random doodles on the reports she should really be filling out. It was so quiet that she half-jumped out of her chair when the phone rang in the middle of the afternoon.

“Hey, ’sup?”

“How very professional.” 

Crap. Regina. Emma scrambled to sit upright. 

“Hi.”

“Is that how you always answer the telephone?”

“Um, no, usually David answers it, but he’s out on patrol right now.” Emma scratched her cheek. It was flushed. She cleared her throat. “Sheriff’s Department, Sheriff Swan speaking. What can I do for you this fine afternoon?”

“I need to wash, and I believe I may require assistance.”

Grown-up and professional. Don’t think naked thoughts, don’t think naked thoughts, don’t think naked—too late. 

Regina in the bath, artfully covered only by foamy bubbles. Regina in the shower, steam on the glass preventing a full view. Regina barely wearing a teeny tiny hand towel. Wet, dripping, naked Regina.

“Right now?” she barely squeaked.

There was a tut of irritation. “No, heaven forfend that I should drag you away from your important napping.”

“Okay.” How the hell did Regina even know that? “Comfort didn’t wash you when she came by?”

“Nurse Mbele,” because Regina did not refer to professionals by their first name, “was most professional and has removed the drain from my wound, but I did not wish to detain her further with having to supervise my washing when she has more important clinical duties to attend to at the hospital.”

In other words, Regina didn’t want to get naked in front of the nurse.

“Also, Eugenia has apparently prepared dinner, but I should prefer that there was an adult here to cook it. Henry appears to have inherited your lack of co-ordination and short attention span, and some supervision is therefore in order, lest he burns down my kitchen.”

Emma chuckled. “I think his clumsiness has a lot more to do with being a teenager than any genes I might have passed along. And I’m pretty sure he can cope with reheating one of Granny’s pot-luck dinners.”

“Fine. In that case, I’ll see you at nine as planned.” Regina’s tone had turned short, clipped.

“Oh, hey, that’s not what I said.” She shook her head and turned her eyes skywards. “Look, why don’t I swing by after my shift and help you with the washing thing while dinner’s cooking, and then maybe we can all eat in your room or something?”

“That would be,” Regina paused, “acceptable. I shall expect you at five-thirty.” She hung up without waiting for an answer.

+

“I am perfectly capable of washing myself, Miss Swan,” Regina said, even though she couldn’t sit upright for more than about forty seconds without looking like she was about to pass out.

“No, you’re not.”

“I most certainly am.”

“If you were, you wouldn’t have asked me in the first place, and you heard what the nurse said about this. You know you’re not allowed to do anything strenuous on your own.” Emma had a bowl of hot water in one hand and a wash cloth in the other. 

Regina’s answering growl conveyed an entire lecture on her own capabilities, the incompetence of Storybrooke General’s clinical staff, and her irritation at Emma. 

“It’s either this,” Emma put the bowl on the bedside table and handed Regina the cloth, “or you can fester for another few days until you get the all-clear from the hospital.” 

“I am washing myself without your help, Emma Swan, and you are not going to stop me.”

“Really?”

“There is hardly any point in your being here. I am quite fine now that the drain has been removed.”

“Okay.” Emma folded her arms across her chest. “So, you’re telling me to leave because you’ve got this covered? You can totally negotiate the IV by yourself? That’s what you want me to believe?”

“I do not understand why we can’t use magic to cure me or to transport me into a real bath.”

Emma shook her head. “Something to do with the anaesthetic in your system and the fact that you’re too weak to heal yourself. Whale was pretty insistent about there being risks to your heart if I tried with my magic, and yours is out of the question until you’re better. So, no.”

“Whale knows nothing. He got his medical degree from a curse.”

“Yeah, but I hear he’s read some books since then.”

Regina scoffed. “Back issues of Playboy do not count as anatomical research.”

“Oh, I don’t know. They helped me figure a few things out.”

Crap. She totally hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“You read it for the articles, no doubt.” Regina shot her some seriously amused side-eye.

“Okay, so,” Emma ignored the comment, “do you want me to help you get undressed, or what?”

Emma had phoned Comfort Mbele for advice after talking to Regina, and she had been quite insistent that Regina should not lean forward or twist too much and that therefore Emma should help her. That was more skin-on-skin contact than either Emma or Regina would be comfortable with, albeit for different reasons, so Emma was really hoping it wouldn’t be necessary. On the up side, Comfort had changed Regina out of her hospital gown into a pair of light cotton pyjamas with short sleeves and a button-up front, which would make washing much easier. It was a nice touch.

“I am quite capable, thank you very much.” Regina looked around. “Although I will require towels.” 

“Sure.” Emma ducked into the bathroom to fetch some. As she re-entered the bedroom, Regina was unbuttoning her pyjama top. Emma all but threw the towels onto the bed and turned her back to face the wall, where there was no sign of a half-naked Regina.

“You can leave, you know,” Regina said.

“No, I can’t. You know the rules.”

“Then you can stand on the other side of the door if my nudity offends you so much.”

The last thing Emma was feeling was offended. “Forgive me for trying to give you a little privacy.”

And then came the pained gasp that she heard and couldn’t ignore.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” Regina replied through obviously gritted teeth.

Crap.

“Right, fair warning, I’m turning around. Cover anything you don’t want me to see.”

Regina was, indeed, half-naked, her pyjama top all the way open. Although most of the important stuff was covered, Emma could see more than enough. Way more than enough, in fact. Reality more than surpassed fantasy in this case.

Sick person, professional, not thinking those sort of thoughts, she told herself.

“So, uh, what’s the problem?”

Regina sighed. “I cannot reach the bowl of water without turning, and turning feels like I am being gutted whole all over again.”

“See? That’s why you’re not meant to move around too much, and why you need me here.”

“Are you going to help me or not?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Emma walked to the side of the bed and took the cloth, wringing it out in the hot water and handing it back. “Did you notice I added some of your shower gel to the water, so it smells nice?”

“How very touching.”

Emma was trying to stare off into the middle distance and not look at Regina at all, but another gasp drew her attention. She looked at Regina right as she was washing underneath her breast, cupping it in her hand to keep it out of her way and—holy Mother of God, Emma really shouldn’t be having the thoughts she was having about a woman with a huge, angry scar across her belly and an IV still attached to her arm. 

Sick person, professional, not thinking those sort of thoughts. It was her new mantra.

“Can I, do you need, I mean, do you want a hand or something?”

“No.” Regina grimaced and leaned forward, at which point there was a high, brief sound of gas being passed, a little two-note trumpet, and Emma’s faced turned red as she struggled with an entirely childish desire to make some kind of fart joke. She bit down on her lip and turned her head towards the window.

“This is not amusing,” Regina said.

“No, of course not.” God, she wanted to laugh.

“There is nothing amusing about this.”

“Nope.”

Unfortunately for Emma’s composure, Regina’s digestive system chose that moment to let loose with a rapid volley of tiny eruptions which seemed to last forever, although it was probably less than twenty seconds. Emma lost it, barking out a loud guffaw. In response, Regina launched the wet cloth at her, landing right on the side of Emma’s face.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” she said between giggles, feeling her chest tighten from an inability to breathe properly.

“You are uncouth and childish, and I do not need you here if this is how you are to behave.”

“Oh, come on, Regina, I’m not the one who just tried to fart the national anthem.”

Totally, completely, irrefutably the wrong thing to say, as Regina’s face clouded with anger, hurt and embarrassment.

“Get out!”

“Hey, no,” she edged her body towards the bed, picking up the washcloth on the way and holding it out like a white flag of truce, “come on now. I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s not your fault. We knew this was going to happen at some point, and it’s, like, a good thing.”

Regina turned her head away and pulled her pyjama top closed over her chest. “Get out.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It may not be a big deal to you, Emma Swan, but some of us have dignity which we wish to maintain, and your lack of tact and decorum is not what I need for that.” Regina’s voice was weaker than ever, and there was the glint of tears on her cheek. Shit.

“Regina—”

“Get out of this room at once.”

Emma shrugged and walked to the door, glancing back over her shoulder. “I’m really sorry.”

“Just leave.”

Emma shook her head and started to close the door behind her, then thought better of it, swinging around.

“Nope.”

Regina’s head jerked up, and she was definitely crying. “Pardon?”

“Nope. Not leaving.” Emma pushed the sleeves of her shirt up to her elbows and folded her arms across her chest. “I’ve got a job to do here, and that’s to help you get better, and that’s not going to happen if we both have to pretend that there’s nothing wrong with you.” She nodded emphatically. “So, here’s the deal. You’re sick. That means there will be things like farting and burping and icky, gooky liquids in your future and mine. And you’re gonna feel like shit, and we might both get a little bit embarrassed now and again, but that’s tough. We’re both going to have suck it up like big girls, because you need to get well. So, you’re pretty much stuck with me, unless, of course, you’d prefer that I get my mother to come over and bathe you.”

Regina scowled, but her tears were abating.

“We’re agreed, then?” Emma moved back to the side of the bed and sat down, so that she wasn’t towering over Regina. Regina didn’t answer right away, so Emma ducked her head to catch Regina’s eye. “Yes?”

“I suppose you may be the least objectionable person I know.” Regina turned her head again to hide from Emma’s gaze.

“Be still my heart.” Emma stuck her finger into the water to check that it was still warm. “That’s not a ‘no’, right?”

Regina rolled her eyes. “That’s not a ‘no’.”

“Good, so can we start over with this?”

“I suppose.”

“Good.”

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Me?” Emma grinned. “Never.”


	2. Chapter 2

#### Day 3

Preparation was the key, Emma decided. Fail to prepare and you prepared to get your ass handed to you by your son’s totally hot other mother, as the well-known saying went.

First thing in the morning, she made a list of everything she needed, and then begged, borrowed or bought all the items on it. She spent most of the afternoon at work going through her list and checking things off so that, by six o’clock, when she was standing at Regina’s front door, she was ready.

She felt ready.

She was the Sheriff, the Saviour. She had been the Dark One. Now that she was prepared, babysitting Little Miss Crankypants was going to be a breeze compared to everything she’d been through in her life to date.

She walked upstairs and into Regina’s bedroom, put her bags down by the door, and then shared a few pleasantries with Henry before sending him downstairs to get started on dinner.

Regina’s attention was entirely on the bags Emma had brought. Ignoring that, Emma smiled at her.

“How was your day?” she asked, even though she’d already had reports from Nurse Mbele (IV removed, patient not well pleased) and Archie (patient refusing to accept help, trying to do things for herself).

“Well, after I cleaned the whole house top-to-bottom, I went to the office for a few hours, issued some infraction notices and looked over the paperwork for the upcoming review of harbourside zoning permits. Then, I stopped by the salon for a full mani-pedi, gossiped with the girls about life and love. After that, I did my usual run and yoga workout, and dashed home and got back into bed just in time for you to stop by and ask inane questions.”

Emma laughed. “Someone’s missing their sweet, sweet morphine. Pain bad today?”

“What was your first clue?” Regina scratched at her arm where the IV needle had been.

“I would say your perky attitude, but that seems much the same as always.”

Regina pursed her lips. “Enough pleasantries. What’s in those bags?” Straight to the point, also much the same as always.

“I got us a few things to make this whole situation a bit more manageable.” Emma picked up the smaller bag, a backpack, and unzipped the main compartment. “This,” she took out a small piece of plastic and held it up to show Regina, “is a personal alarm. It has two buttons. Left for torch.” She pressed the button, and a bright circle of light appeared on bedroom wall. “Surprisingly powerful for two bucks, actually.” She flicked it off again. “The right is for the alarm, like having your own panic button. I’m not going to hit that one because it’s pretty damn loud. I scared the ever-living crap out of David testing them out at the office.” She gave the one in her hand to Regina and pulled a plastic baggie out of her backpack, tipping another dozen or so onto the bedcovers. “The rest of these are going everywhere I can think of.”

“And the point of this is?” Regina was holding the panic button at arm’s length, as if it were a grenade in imminent danger of exploding.

“The point of this is that you don’t go anywhere without one. I know Whale told you to stay in bed for at least the rest of the week,” in fact, he’d said ten to fourteen days, “but I have zero faith in your ability to do that, so every time you move, any time your back is not against those pillows, you’d better have one in your hand.”

Emma took a couple of the panic buttons into the bathroom, and placed one by the sink and a second next to the toilet. “But, in case you forget, the others are a back-up.”

When she returned to the bedroom, Regina was scowling.

She got that Regina resented not being the one in control, but Emma was worried about her. Worried wasn’t even close to the right word: frantic, terrified and nauseous were nearer the mark. When she’d got the call from the hospital to tell her that Regina was in surgery, it hit her like two-by-four, bile rising, head spinning, heart racing. Fight or flight, only she would never run from Regina.

It was Emma’s job to protect Regina, and she had failed spectacularly. 

It was Regina, Emma and Henry against the world. Her family was the most important thing, the only thing. That anything serious or life-threatening might happen to Regina was too monstrous to contemplate fully, because what was her life without Regina? 

But she’d pushed that fear down and concentrated on the job in hand, because that’s what she did when the adrenaline kicked in: she didn’t think, she acted. 

Deep, scary thoughts could always be buried under a mountain of tasks, and Emma Swan had a long, long list.

“I would also prefer it if you would take your cellphone with you, too,” she said. “I’ll program my number on your direct dial.” She went back to her backpack and fished out another small electronic device. “This one, this is for me. It’s a pager. You’ll probably recognise it from your twenty-eight years spent in the Eighties.” She looked up as Regina shook her head in what Emma liked to think was long-suffering fondness. “It’s for when I’m out of cellphone range. It accepts texts, and I will put the number into your phone for this as well. Nothing more than 16 characters, though. Real old school.”

Regina shook her head. “Why do I need any of this?”

Emma put her hands on her hips. “Your IV and drain are gone. There is, in theory, nothing to stop you getting out of bed.” She stared Regina down. “I have, in fact, already had a report from a concerned citizen that you were heard moving around up here by yourself instead of asking for help, like you’re supposed to.”

“Archie Hopper has a big mouth. You can’t trust anything he has to say.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Emma went into the backpack for the third time, and retrieved four plastic baby monitors.

This time, there was no mistaking the very real anger on Regina’s face.

“Emma Swan, you can take those back to wherever you got them from! I am not going to be spied upon like a helpless infant.”

She held up her hands placatingly. She wasn’t deliberately trying to annoy Regina. She was trying to help. She wanted to help. She wanted Regina to feel safe. She needed to know that Regina was safe. 

She needed to be the one who kept Regina safe.

“These are the back-up for my back-ups. Don’t worry, there won’t be one in the bathroom, but a couple of these are going around this room in places I don’t think you’ll be able to reach. And they’re only for me and Henry when we’re here. If there’s anyone else you trust, you can choose to give them access, but that’s your decision to make, not mine.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to have me electronically tagged?”

Emma shook her head. “Don’t think I didn’t consider it, but those things are kinda bulky, and you’re probably going to be unsteady on your feet anyway.”

Regina’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re actually serious.”

“Yeah, of course. Have you met you?”

She looked around the room for some suitable locations. She put one next to the bed, another on the mantelpiece, and the third on one of the high shelves in the walk-in wardrobe. All the while, Regina seethed and sighed dramatically.

“What’s in the other bag? Video surveillance equipment?”

Emma chuckled. “No, that’s a sleeping bag and some comfortable clothes for me.” She rotated her lower back. “I’m not sleeping fully dressed in that chair a third night.”

“I hadn’t realised that you’d slept in it a second.”

Crap. Emma had told Regina the night before that she was going to sleep in the guest room, but she hadn’t even made it into bed before realising that she wouldn’t be able to get any rest without being able to keep an eye on Regina. And now Regina was staring at her with a raised eyebrow which hinted at a ton of unspoken questions, none of which Emma had any intention of acknowledging, nevermind answering. 

She was doing a perfectly fine job of not confronting her own feelings, and she didn’t need Regina forcing her to acknowledge them.

“Not the point.” Emma waved Regina’s questioning look away, then affected a drawl. “You need a jailer, and I’m the law ’round these parts, little lady.”

“You are ridiculous, and I refuse to put up with any of these proposed intrusions.”

“Good thing you don’t have a say in it.” Too bad, so sad. “I’m going to go help Henry with dinner. Do you think you’re up to anything solid yet? There’s chicken soup if you’re not.”

“Soup.”

“Excellent choice. I hear it’s the specialty of the house.” She picked up another baby monitor. “I’m taking this with me to put in the kitchen.”

“Whatever.”

Regina could protest all she liked, but there was no harshness in her tone, and she was already looking at the panic button with more curiosity than revulsion.

Yeah, everything was going to work out just fine.

“If you need anything, just holler.”

As Emma headed out of the door, she was pretty sure Regina was muttering swear words at her in a language from the Enchanted Forest. Either that, or she was casting a spell and Emma could look forward to a life as a toad. Eh, there were worse things in life, she supposed.

She had barely reached the kitchen door when there was an ear-piercing noise. The monitor in her hand screeched and whined with feedback, and the whole hall filled with the sound.

She turned and sprinted back upstairs, crashing through the master bedroom door to find Regina holding her panic button against the baby monitor next to the bed.

“What the ever-living fuck, Regina? You scared the crap out of me.”

Regina’s smile was of pure delight. “Just checking if your cut-price equipment actually works.”

“Oh, very funny.” 

But, yeah it kind of was funny. And Emma didn’t really mind being the butt of Regina’s jokes if it made her smile the way she was now, all satisfied and smug. Emma liked all of Regina’s smiles, especially when they were turned her way. Emma also liked the way Regina’s smiles made her own heart swell.

“It certainly amused me.” Regina made a shooing motion. “Run along now. At least we know I can get your attention in an emergency.”

Emma sighed. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”

“I have no idea, but remember, Emma, that all of this was your idea.”

 

#### Day 4

Regina liked the baby monitors. She didn’t say as much, but she was chatting away to Henry through them when Emma got home that evening.

Henry’s monitor was sitting on the kitchen counter, an island of plastic amidst a sea of fresh produce, and Henry was looking both exasperated and confused.

“What’s going on?” she asked him.

“I’m supervising dinner,” Regina’s tinny voice came through the plastic. “Do you have all the ingredients ready, Henry?”

“Yes, Mom.” He rolled his eyes and grinned at Emma.

“I can see you making a face, young man.”

Henry’s eyes widened and Emma laughed. She was pretty sure it was only a good guess on Regina’s part, but she wouldn’t rule out Regina’s being able to see them through some form of magic.

“Busted, kid.”

“Anyway, now that your mother is here,” Regina continued, “we can get started on cooking.”

It took a while, more than it probably should have, but Emma and Henry made a passable pork and rice dish and a large pot of vegetable soup based on Regina’s instructions. A few times, Emma wondered if Regina really was spying on them with magic because she was far too good at sensing when either of them was trying to veer off her recipes. That woman had serious skills.

But it was nice. It was more than nice. It felt like Regina was there with them. The three of them. As a family. Making dinner together. 

There was a lot of laughter in the kitchen, and Emma was sure that Regina would’ve laughed along with them if she could have without busting her stitches.

Regina was good at telling them what needed to be done without lecturing. Not that Emma would have minded being lectured: she liked when Regina got all haughty and bossy for reasons which weren’t entirely pure. 

But, it wasn’t about that. There was security in Regina’s firm direction. Emma felt safe in Regina’s hands. Her heart knew that Regina would never steer her wrong, never hurt her intentionally. Emma trusted Regina, completely and implicitly.

Regina beamed with pride when they came upstairs to show her the results of their efforts. Emma liked that smile a lot. Knowing that she had pleased Regina was its own reward, but the smile was an extra blessing.

Emma considered the evening a qualified success, given that Regina still didn’t eat much of anything and became increasingly subdued as the evening wore on and the pain and tiredness took hold.

There was still no sign of a bowel movement—which Emma was strictly forbidden from asking about—and it was hard to tell whether the scar or her backed-up digestive system was giving Regina more discomfort.

After Regina was asleep, Emma set up her makeshift bed on the floor. It was comfortable enough, certainly a lot better than sleeping in the overstuffed chair in the corner, and it had the benefit of being close to Regina.

She sat on top of the sleeping bag, her knees drawn to her chest, and watched.

Regina slept restlessly, despite the pain meds. Emma wondered if Regina always slept restlessly. Probably.

She looked so vulnerable in the large bed, sleep robbing her of her larger-than-life personality, the armour behind which she usually hid. It was easy sometimes to forget how small and precious the real woman behind the façade actually was. Emma vowed she would never make that mistake again. 

She would protect her family, first and always. She would protect Regina with all that she had.

Emma watched until Regina’s motions finally calmed, and then she did a little internet research on her phone, looking up foods with laxative properties which might help Regina’s digestive system. She nearly laughed out loud when the most frequently recommended ingredient turned out to be apple cider vinegar.

 

#### Day 5

As a distraction for the evening, Emma brought her laptop and some DVDs over, so that they could all watch movies in Regina’s room after dinner which, again, Regina instructed over the baby monitors.

After dinner, and much to Emma’s surprise, Regina directed Henry and Emma to sit either side of her on the bed for the movie. Henry immediately clambered onto the bed next to his mother, but Emma spent way longer than she needed to setting the movie up. Then she asked if everyone was fine, and if she could get them anything else. Then she went to the bathroom, even though she didn’t really need to go to the bathroom. When she returned, she asked again if anyone wanted anything.

“Sit,” Regina said, with a smile that Emma had never seen before, a smile which was small and fond and understanding and so, so good. It was a smile which tied Emma’s stomach in knots, but in the best ways.

So Emma sat, rigid and with a racing heart, hyperaware of Regina: of her little winces and twinges; of the arm which was pressed against Emma’s left side; of her scent, fainter than usual under the pallor of sickness, but still unmistakably Regina; of the fact that she glanced sideways at Emma every few minutes; of everything.

Regina disliked Ghostbusters so much—‘These men are a disgrace to the name scientist!’—that Emma had to turn it off after only twenty minutes because of the constant griping. Pretty Woman, however, was allowed to stay on. There was even chuckling, which sent Regina into a coughing fit and then grimacing in pain. 

Henry wasn’t much interested in the movie, though, and went to bed barely an hour into it. Regina didn’t last much longer, her eyes fluttering shut before the sounds of light snoring filled the air. She mewled like a kitten in her sleep and it was the single most adorable thing Emma had ever witnessed.

Emma wanted to reach out and brush the hair back from Regina’s forehead, to let her fingers trail through her hair soothingly, but that would have been too intimate. Besides, Emma had a rule about not touching people without their consent, no matter how innocuous the gesture.

Emma didn’t move, happy just to be in Regina’s presence, and not wanting to wake her. 

They sat like that for over an hour, long after the DVD had looped around to the title screen, until Regina finally moved, turning over and away from Emma. 

Reluctantly, Emma eased off the bed and closed the laptop screen. She looked back at Regina, wishing that she was brave enough to get back into bed and be with her. Instead, she settled into her sleeping bag on the floor.

It was the dead of night when she woke up to the sound of whimpering.

“Regina?” She sat up and rubbed her eyes.

Regina was turned on her side, her back to Emma, her arms wrapped around her middle. The way her shoulders were shaking, she had to be crying.

“Hey,” Emma said, shuffling out of the sleeping bag and moving over to Regina’s side of the bed. As soon as she approached, Regina tried to curl in on herself, but gasped in pain. “Hey, come on now. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Regina shook her head and buried her face in the pillow.

“Is it sore?” Emma looked at the small pill bottle next to the bed. “Did you take your pain meds?”

Regina nodded. “An hour ago.”

“Oh.” Too soon to take some more, then.

Emma shuffled from foot to foot, unsure what to do. Regina clearly needed some kind of comfort, but she was unlikely to ask—or to accept, if offered.

“What can I do?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“There must be something.”

“No.” One word, two letters, yet somehow filled with misery, anger and resentment.

“Drink? Food? Foot rub?”

Regina sniffed and wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, lifting her head back off the pillow. “You? Rub my feet?”

“Sure.” Emma shrugged. “Why not?”

“You’d probably break one of my toes.”

“Fine, then I’ll rub your belly, or whatever.”

“You will not!”

Emma shook her head. Impossible woman. “Well, there must be something I can do.”

Regina half-shrugged. “I suppose my pillows could be more comfortable.”

“Pillow fluffing? I am totally down for that.”

Regina tried to sit up, but the pain of the movement was obviously too much, and she fell back down almost immediately.

“Here, let me,” Emma said. She stepped forward and put her arm around Regina’s back. She urged Regina up as gently as she could. She tried not to think about the fact that Regina’s head ended up resting against her breast, or the fact that Regina’s breath was tickling across her skin, and the world would be such an easier place if sex was the only thing passing through Emma’s mind, because sex was something she understood. Kinda. Sorta. Well, she knew how to have sex, at least. 

But this, this was intimacy and trust and protection. This was caring—not using the L word, not using the L word, not using the L word—about another person and putting their needs before your own. All she had intended to do was help Regina, and her mind was spinning off in too many directions at once.

What would it feel like to be cradled in Regina’s arms? If they were a couple, would they be the kind of people to cuddle up on the couch together? Would they be hand-holders? Not in the nauseating way her parents were, but maybe they’d be hand-holders because they couldn’t not be touching each other at all times. Emma was pretty sure that she’d be unable to stop touching Regina—because, Regina—but maybe Regina wasn’t the touching in public kind? 

Could they even make it as a couple? What if Regina wasn’t interested in that sort of relationship? What if Emma was completely wrong in her assumption that Regina was at least attracted to her, just because Regina tolerated her and made her favourite meals and gave her special smiles? Because, again, Regina, and why would the likes of Regina Mills be interested in Emma Swan, when she could have her pick of anyone, when she looked the way she did and, more importantly, was the person she was? What was Emma thinking of even being in love with Regina Mills in the first place?

Shit. Holy crap. In love? No, she couldn’t—

“Emma?”

“Hmmm?” Regina was saying something. Emma blinked, and realised she’d just been holding Regina to her and not actually doing anything. “Yeah.” Shit. “Sorry.”

With her right arm supporting Regina, she fixed the pillows as best she could with her left. She nearly lost it entirely when Regina actually nuzzled—nuzzled!—into her breast, making a delicious little half-purr, half-moan which hit Emma right in the sex feels.

Sick person, professional. Sick person, professional. Sick person, professional.

She eased Regina back into a lying position on the newly fluffed pillows. Judging by the grimace on Regina’s face, it had made little difference.

And then it occurred to her that one of the other prisoners had shown her a trick when she was pregnant, to help with her colic and general discomfort. Okay, so a huge pelvic scar wasn’t exactly the same thing, but the pain was in the right area and trying something certainly couldn’t do any more harm.

“Hold on a sec.” She tried to sound reassuring. “I have an idea that might help.”

Before Regina could comment, she ran through to the guest room and came back in with a  bolster. It was a good shape and a decent size for what she wanted; certainly, it was much better than the thin prison pillows she’d had to work with.

“Here,” she said, approaching the empty side of the bed. “We’re just gonna put this behind your knees and it should help with the pain.” Emma climbed onto the bed next to Regina, gently pulling the covers aside. She hooked her arm behind Regina’s knees. “Okay, lean back and let me get this under you.” Regina nodded, her jaw set firm. Emma slid the bolster in place. 

“There,” she said, adjusting it beneath Regina’s legs. “How’s that?”

Regina shuffled a little, testing the new position, moving without wincing for once.

“Hmm,” she said, which Emma took to mean ‘Thank you, Emma, that feels much better.’

“It always helped me,” Emma said, settling down on her side, propped up on one arm.

“When?”

“When I was pregnant with Henry.”

“Oh.”

“There was this woman called Wanda, and I, well, she was—” Emma faltered. “The thing is that—Ah, hell.”

“Are you being coy because this is going to be a story about how you became a prison wife?”

“Jesus, no.” Regina was just teasing her, Emma knew that, so she softened her tone. “I was going to say that Wanda really helped me to cope with being pregnant with Henry because she’d had two kids in prison and lost them to Social Services herself, so she knew how I was feeling. But I just realised that I’ve never contacted her since I got out, never even considered it. She was really good to me, and I totally bailed on her.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” And now she felt really shitty because Wanda had helped her so much and Emma had left her behind, like she’d left every part of her past life behind.

Regina paused and waited until Emma’s gaze met her own. “I am sorry that I gave you a life where any of that was ever your reality, Emma. Prison, giving Henry away, all of it.”

Emma remembered Regina’s assertion in Neverland that she regretted nothing because her choices had given her Henry. There was nothing Emma wouldn’t do for their son, either, and she kind of agreed with Regina in that it was hard to regret bad decisions if they took you to a good place. 

Emma knew from her own life that some choices were not choices at all, and people—innocent or not—got hurt by those choices. But sometimes it was your survival versus someone else’s hurt. She got that. She’d been there. She’d stolen from people who were no better than her, but who still didn’t have much more than she did; she’d conned good people who didn’t remotely deserve it. She wasn’t going to start throwing stones from her own glass house.

She’d never thought that she’d hear Regina apologise, though. She didn’t need the apology, but it felt important somehow that it was being offered.

“But if all that hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t have Henry yourself.”

“No, that’s true; however, I wish that it hadn’t come at your expense.”

“It’s the past, and life is what it is.” Emma shrugged. She didn’t blame Regina for her childhood. There were a whole lot of other people to hold responsible for that. “Besides, it hasn’t turned out so bad.”

“No?” Regina smiled. “And how is that?”

Emma stretched out until she was lying next to Regina on top of the covers, her head resting in the crook of her arm. 

“When I was pregnant with Henry, I often wondered what kind of parents he was gonna get in the lottery.”

“Lottery?”

“Some parents are good, some are bad, some are monsters.” Emma picked at the bed cover, watching Regina. “Biological, adoptive, foster, it doesn’t matter. People are just people, and a lot of them suck. I wanted good ones for him.”

“Ones, plural?”

“Hey, I’m not judging single parents. I’d have taken a single mom over a lot of the so-called decent married couples I got placed with when I was in the system. I just assumed that a brand-new white baby would be given to a shiny married white couple because that’s the way it usually works. In my day, single parents usually only got the problem kids, or the sick ones, or the ones no-one else wanted. You know, the leftovers. So, it never occurred to me that he’d end up with—”

“Choose your words carefully, Emma Swan.”

“—someone as awesome as you.”

“Good save.”

“Thanks.”

“So?”

“What?”

“What did you imagine for Henry?”

“Stuff I’ve told you before: a nice family, a bedroom to himself, a good education. But mostly just love. Unconditional love, where he could be whatever he wanted and his parents would still think that the sun rose and set on him.” The things she’d wished for herself before she learnt that wishes don’t come true.

“Your parents think the sun rises and sets on you, Emma.”

“Yeah.” She knew that was what they said; it wasn’t how they made her feel.

“They do. They don’t always pick the best ways of showing it, but they definitely think that.”

“Sure. They love me so much that they’ve replaced me with one kid already, and have another on the way because ‘Neal needs a sibling his own age, Emma.’” She wanted to be happy for them. She didn’t want to sound petty. But it was hard to shake the idea that they were having another kid so they could finally get the daughter they really wanted, a proper brand-new baby daughter to replace the broken adult they were stuck with. 

“You’re a mother yourself now, so you know that even good parents can make stupid mistakes and say idiotic things, despite having only the best intentions.”

Emma grinned. “Are you saying that I’m a good parent?”

“If that is what you wish to take from what I said, I can’t stop you from believing that.” Regina shut her eyes, a sure sign that she was avoiding admitting the truth.

“You are, aren’t you?”

“I’m tired now.” Regina folded her arms over her belly, protectively cupping the scarred area.

“I hear you.”

“Don’t push it.”

“Yeah, I hear you.” Emma began to move, sliding down the bed.

“No,” Regina said, opening her eyes again and shaking her head.

Emma stilled. “No, what?”

“Don’t go.” Regina bit her lower lip, rolled her eyes, shook her head. “I would—” She sighed. “The thing is, Emma—” Regina paused again, and then forced her remaining words out in an uncharacteristic jumble. “The truth is that the pain is still there, and our talking is helping to distract me from it, so I’d appreciate it if you would stay awhile and talk to me. If you’re not too tired, that is.”

Emma shuffled back up the bed until her head was on the pillow, and watched Regina stare at the ceiling to avoid looking back at her. 

“I bet that admission hurt more than the scar.” Regina didn’t reply, and Emma didn’t expect her to. A change of subject was in order anyway. “Are you ever going to tell me the full story of how the Kurgan managed to get the drop on you, by the way?” 

“No.”

“That’s it? Just flat-out no?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, you’ll tell me? Or, yes, that’s it, you won’t tell me?”

“Yes.”

“You know you’re infuriating, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, but, are you ever going to tell me?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe’s a start.”

“Yes, Emma, maybe is a start.”


End file.
